Red vs Blue: Trials, Tribulations and Zombies
by Brovenger
Summary: The zombie apocalypse descends on Earth, and with few forces to fight them, all the worlds military rush and scramble to send soldiers from space. But is it in time, and can a group of trainees led by a disillusioned Freelancer do ANY good at all?
1. Z Day Is Upon Us

**A/N: Well, I've worked for too long on this, so here's part one. It's a bit AU of RvB, though.

* * *

**

It had been six weeks since the infection had broken out. Though, 'infection' wasn't really the right word, was it? No one knew what it really was. It might not have been an infection after all; hell it could have been a mutation in the human gene! Whatever the case, it hadn't been that long since the world fell into disarray and the undead started crawling up out of their graves, sinking their rotted teeth into the flesh of the living. Despite the short span of time that had passed, most places looked like they'd been abandoned for years. It was unnerving, to say the least.

She'd gotten lucky when she'd stumbled upon the gas station. It was a fairly new building, and big. It had a lot of supplies in it and hadn't been looted too bad. Even the windows were still in tact.

Despite this, the supplies ran out quicker than she thought. She blamed herself for not doing a proper inventory and rationing everything. She was beginning to get really _fucking_ sick of eating stale Snicker's and Ho-Ho's everyday, three times a day. It was nearing time to move on, though she didn't seem able to muster up the courage. She'd gotten used to her little gas station, she liked it. She didn't _want_ to leave, even though she knew she had to.

Despite putting her best efforts forward, a slightly overwhelming sense of despair was starting forsake her. She would die if she stayed in the gas station, and she would probably die within days if she left; if not of the goddamn zombies wandering around, she'd die of exposure or starvation. At least in the gas station her only enemy was starvation.

For now, at least.

Mick ran a hand over her face and rolled over on her makeshift bed; a beach towel and a couch pillow. She looked out of the front windows in the gas station as the sun just began its rise over the hills in the distance. What with the dew in the grass across the road glittering in the light, and the stark contrast between the warm golden sunlight and black shadows of night, she imagined it'd make a nice picture. The type of thing someone would have as a wallpaper on their computer at work.

She sat up and her eyes scanned the parking lot in front of the store. No zombies yet, that was good. The monsters seemed to disappear during the night, and became active during the day. Maybe the heat from the sun made them come out more.

Regardless, the lack of them in the parking lot made it look normal outside. She almost expected someone to open the front door of the house across the street and waltz out in a bathrobe to the end of their driveway, pick up the daily paper and walk back inside without a care in the world.

Five minutes passed until she realized she'd been staring at the house. Apparently, she was doing more than 'almost' expecting someone to come out, maybe she still hadn't adjusted to the way things had become. Hell, had anyone?

Mick grabbed her Glock from its place by her bed and stood up, stretching. She reached her hands high above her head, causing her shirt to rise up over her stomach a little. She dropped her hands by her side after she felt something pop back into its proper place in her back and sighed a little. Walking down one of the aisles in front of the checkout counter, she surveyed some of the remaining goods.

"Let's see, should I have Snickers or…Snickers for breakfast?" she mumbled, scratching her chin and debating silently. "I opt for Snickers."

* * *

A heavy breathing filled the woods, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps. Voices called after the lone figure as they aimed weapons at him. The sound of a rifle shot echoed throughout the morning air and he faltered, letting out a cry as an acute pain flared up in his thigh.

He made the mistake of glancing back over his shoulder as he pressed a hand to the wound. He stumbled, almost fell to the ground. He was able to pick himself back up and resume running, just in time for another bullet to lodge itself in his shoulder. He yelped again as the voice got nearer.

He skidded to a stop at the edge of a ravine and cussed. It had seemed to just pop up out of nowhere; hidden by trees one second then it was there, ready and waiting to swallow him whole the next.

"There he is!" One of the voices yelled. "Get that sombicth!"

_Don't think so, boys,_ he thought. He took a few steps back and took off at a run, jumping from side of the ravine to the other. He grunted as he landed, waving his arms a little to regain his balance. He spared a look over his shoulder as another voice yelled out and human forms started becoming visible on the other side. Grinning beneath the helmet on his head, he took of running again, quickly disappearing. By the time his pursuers showed up, it was like he'd never been there.

The man clad in grey and yellow armor paused once he was good bit away from the ravine. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, his mind racing over what had happened within the past few days.

First he'd been out on a mission; searching for his dying comrades AI's and recovering them. Then, on a routine trip back to headquarters he'd been ushered around by a frazzled group of Marines barking orders. He'd been pushed onto a drop ship with a group of trainees and sent flying back to Earth.

It wasn't until they crash landed he'd even figured out why.

He sighed and pushed himself off the tree, holding onto his bleeding shoulder. He scanned the surrounding area as he walked, realizing he was totally lost.

'_Great…just fucking great,_' he thought as his agitation grew.

_If my data is correct, there is a building a quarter mile ahead,_ his unseen helper notified. He winced slightly at the motion and resisted the urge to rip his helmet off and pull the unit out.

_Apologies, Agent Washington, I am trying not to cause you any distress._

"I know, I know," he said, coming to a stop. His left hand had started twitching again. "Which way to the building, and is there anyway you can identify it?

_Northwest. Also, I suggest we hurry. It seems our new friends have caught up._

"What?" he yelped. Another onslaught of bullets started whizzing past him, causing him to draw his Magnum from the holster on this thigh. "Don't these bastards ever give up?"

_If I may take an educated guess…I would say: no._

"I fucking noticed that, thank you!"

_I am here to assist.

* * *

_

Mick flipped through the pages of a trashy romance novel as she sat on the counter by the cash register. She hated romance novels. Wastes of dead trees, she'd always thought. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the only reading material her gas station had stocked. Well, that and an "Alien Killing for the Incredibly Inept" book supposedly by Master Chief. She assumed it involved methods that no one should ever discover, though she did wonder if anything would be useful for zombies.

She sighed, throwing the book down and staring off across the gas station. She'd left the two front double doors leading down the hallway to the back room open. The back room was the storage/office space for the station. They loaded and unloaded trucks with supplies back when the place was still functioning. There were two little rooms off to the sides of it, one served as the managers office and the other was a break room.

There was a clock on the wall above the side entrance. It was an old round analog clock that ran on batteries. It was still working properly, and even if it did die she had plenty of replacement batteries. Sure, such things should probably go to something like a flashlight, but she'd found that knowing what time on what day it was helped….though _what _exactly it helped wasn't entirely clear. Her frame of mind, maybe.

Her reverie of random thoughts in an attempt to pass time was rudely interrupted by the sound of an explosion and gunfire from outside.

"The fuck is that?"

Mick slid off the counter and made her way to the back of the building. She pushed open the doors to the storeroom and stopped. The sounds from outside continued and grew louder. Were they…getting closer? She moved across to the back doors- two twenty foot tall panels of solid, six inch thick steel- and unlocked them. The shiny silver latch slipped into place with a click, sliding easily across its track. She paused for a second, fingers on the door handle.

She let out a slow breath and opened the door a little to peer outside.

Washington burst out into a clearing and turned, chucking a grenade at the small horde of undead pursuing him. It had turned out that what had originally been concluded to be the group of very much alive men that had been after him was actually a large gathering of zombies. There were about thirty of them, and they were even more persistent than the damn rednecks.

Mick eyed the spectacle from a good bit away, peering out of the crack in the doors. Her first instinct told her to just shut the door, lock it back up, head to the front of the gas station and pretend like nobody was home. _That_ sounded like a decent plan, **but** it had it's complications. After all, if the guy running around in the field out there blowing up zombies came banging on the door and begging for shelter, she'd have to open the door anyway right?

Of course she could always open the door and shoot him in the face…

No! That would be a waste of ammo, plus a freshly dead body would just attract more of 'them', and no one wanted that.

Realizing that it was logical to 'do the right thing' she sighed, tapping her head against the door a bit. Finally, she pulled it open all the way and offered to extend her cozy little hidey hole to this strange man she knew nothing about.

Wait, how was this the logical choice, again?

"'Ay! You, dumbfuck with the 'nades!" she yelled. The guy stopped and looked in her direction. "Yeah, you, over here! Run!"

* * *

Wash paused for a moment, looking over at the open door and the girl yelling obscenities at him. _'Think we can trust her?'_ he asked.

_Well, can she be any more dangerous than those things?_

He looked back at the zombies coming out of the woods. Some of them were even eating the other, now dead-for-real zombies, and other were fighting each other; ripping apart their opponents with their bare hands, biting, scraping and pulling them apart. Blood and organs were getting tossed about, and one of the zombies fell down after getting tangled up in its' own dangling intestines.

Their sickening sounds of grunts, growls, howls, and yells seemed to resonate throughout the clearing.

'_You present a strong argument,_' Wash replied, turning and taking off for the open door. He reached it within seconds, just as the girl pulled it open all the way. He dove into the room and skidded to a halt just in time to prevent himself from going ass-over-tea-kettle on a stack of loading crates. He bent over, hands on his knees, panting as she slammed the doors shut and locked them tight again.

"Thanks," he breathed out, looking up at her. "I owe- uh…." he trailed off as she shoved the barrel of her Glock to his visor.

"Don't thank me yet, asshole."


	2. First Wave

"Don't thank me yet, asshole."

Wash stumbled backwards, holding his hands up in front of him. He came to a stop when a forklift prevented him from backing up any farther. Despite having a gun, wielded by a strange woman he didn't know, pointed in his face, he was as cool as ever.

"Well…" he said, "I'm beginning to think I was better off out there."

Mick sneered at him. "Maybe so," she concurred. "Put your hands behind your head, turn around, and march." She pointed to the door leading to the front of the store. Wash did as he was told, walking slowly.

"Should I touch my nose and walk on the yellow line, too, officer?" he asked.

"You know I wouldn't be so blasé with the girl holding a gun to your head," she said.

Wash smirked underneath his helmet. "Please, I've had sex with the girl holding a gun to my head before."

_Wait, what?_ Delta asked.

Mick paused for a moment. "That's a bit more than I needed to know," she mumbled. She led Wash into the center of the gas station. He turned around to face her, his hands still interlocked behind his head.

"Drop any and all weapons and toss 'em over there," she said, pointing to a spot by the evil Snickers aisle. He complied, moving deliberately as to not startle her into shooting him. He already had two bullet wounds, and he didn't want another; at least, not without a good reason.

Once that was done he went back to having his hands up in front of him. Silence passed for a few moments as she stared at him before Mick spoke again, "Take off your helmet."

"Why?"

"Because I like to know who I'm dealing with," she said.

Wash stared at her through his HUD for a minute or so before reaching up and pulling the grey, rounded piece of metal off his head. He cradled it between his hand and his thigh, now staring at her with cool blue eyes.

"You wanna strip search me, too?" he couldn't hide the smirk on his face and made no effort too.

_Are you insane?_ Delta demanded. _We came in here to __**avoid**__ death._

"No, but you can tell me who you are," she said, sitting down on the stool that used to be behind the checkout counter. Her gaze never strayed form his, and the Glock never strayed from a direct line at his heart.

"I'm Washington," he answered. She stared at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter.

"Oh, oh, I get it this is the part in the movie where'd we use state names as our names for some unknown fucking reason. Nice," she snorted. "In that case, call me Denial."

One could practically hear the crickets chirping.

"Get it? Like the state of denial? …It's a joke."

Wash raised a brown eyebrow. "Really? Because I always thought jokes were funny."

_I found it amusing, if ill timed,_ Delta chimed in.

'_**You**_ _would, wouldn't you?'_

Mick hung her head and grumbled something under her breath, Wash thought he caught something about people lacking intellect, but he wasn't sure. Finally she shrugged and set her gun down on the counter.

"You know what? Fuck it, you're not a danger," she decided. "Though, if I catch you even looking at those weapons the wrong way, I'm gonna shoot your hand off."

She was lying, and she knew she was lying. Sure, if she's standing three feet away from him she'd hit him, _maybe_ in the chest. But if he's across the room? She'd be lucky to hit him at all, let alone the hand. Yet another reason she was scared to leave the relative safety of the gas station; she had piss poor aim. She couldn't shoot to save her life, and by the time a zombie got close enough for her to be able to actually _hit it_, it'd be close enough to eat her.

Nom.

But hey, there was no reason to tell this much bigger, meaner looking, probably more skilled stranger that she couldn't aim for shit, right? It was her only bargaining chip if shit went south. Well, aside from her feminine wiles but she'd never been the seductress type; too…well, un-sexy.

Wash set his helmet down on the other end of the counter and leaned against it. The movement jostled both of his injuries, causing pain to ebb out from his shoulder and leg, racing up and down his body to meet each other somewhere in his stomach. Both pain signals were apparently having a jolly good time, as a wave of nausea descended upon him. He blinked a couple times and brought a hand over his mouth, letting out a slow breath.

_I would advise treating your wounds,_ Delta said, stating the -obvious- most logical idea.

'_Thank you, Captain Obvious,_' Wash replied, _'had you not mentioned that I might have just bled to death.'_

He felt Delta's slight annoyance at his sarcasm prickle in the back of his mind, but made no effort to do anything about it; he wasn't exactly in the best of moods. The way he saw it, he had the right to be in a pissy frame of mind at the moment what with, you know, **the end of the world** and all.

"Are you bleeding?" Mick suddenly asked. She'd narrowed her eyes at him, getting off her stool.

"Mm, yeah," he grunted.

Annnnd, the Glock was right back in his face.

"Did one of those _things_ get to you?" she exclaimed.

"What? No!" he snapped. "Some fucking rednecks _shot_ me."

She stared at him, then lowered the gun again. "What for?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

Mick sighed, scratching her head. "There's some first aid stuff in the men's room." She jerked a thumb behind them, pointing at the sign above the room.

"Thanks, but I don't need it," he grumbled. He fiddled with something on his armor for a moment before a sharp _click_ was heard, followed by a low humming. She raised an eyebrow as the humming continued for a while.

"What the hell is that?" she asked after a while, sitting back on her stool.

"It's a healing unit," he answered. "I should be all fixed up in about an hour."

Delta's avatar glowed to life in front of him. "_Perhaps not,_" he said. "_I would not suggest running that at full power._"

Mick's eyes flickered to Delta. If she was surprised by his sudden appearance, it didn't show on her face. Washington however, flinched at the AI's popping up.

"Why shouldn't I run it?" he asked.

"Because half the world is without power," Mick answered, rolling her eyes a bit at his density.

Delta turned towards her briefly, then addressed Wash. "_She is correct; we do not know the current situation of the Earth's power sources right now, it would be unwise to waste our resources._"

Washington grunted, crossing his arms. "Yeah, good point. Okay, fine, shut it down, I guess I'll make use of that first aid stuff."

The humming came to a stop. Wash looked over at Mick, who was staring out of the window. He followed her gaze and noticed that the parking lot was now holding two zombies. They shuffled about slowly, walking in a random pattern. They didn't _look_ threatening, they just weren't exactly the prettiest thing to watch.

"We should do something about them," he said, pushing off the counter and walking to the bathrooms.

"They're fine," Mick retorted, getting up and following after him. She came to a stop in the doorway. "As long as we don't attract attention to ourselves, anyway."

She watched as he went about removing his armor, paying more attention to intricacies of the suit than the stripping man. "You're UNSC," she stated.

Wash was quiet as he removed the under layer of armor. He answered her with a vague, "something like that."

"Well, you either are or your aren't, it's as simple as that," she said.

"Does it matter?"

"Fuck yes it matters! It means you might actually _know_ something!"

Wash sighed, standing up straight and flipped the lid open on a first aid kit. "Well, sorry in inform you, I don't," he growled. "I was heading back to my command when I got pushed in the wrong direction by some Marines that were freaking out, loaded onto a drop-ship with a few other of my comrades and some trainees and sent back to Earth.

"It wasn't until we crashed landed into the middle of the fucking mountains I even began to find out why we were being sent back."

"Why did you crash land?" she asked, interrupting. Wash threw his hands up ins frustration.

"I have no goddamn idea, one minute we were entering Earth's orbit and the next thing I remember was waking up with a zombie trying to bite through my metal boot. The rest of the people that had been with me were gone, and the crew that had been flying the pelican were dead. The pilot had his visor smashed in, and I took one look at the zombies pulling the flesh off his face out of his helmet and took off."

The fell into silence then. Mick had more questions she wanted to ask; how'd he get down to her, why did were there people attacking him, what was he doing for the UNSC, where did he get the artificial intelligence unit, why weren't there more military forces on Earth?

Despite everything buzzing around in her head, the only she managed to choke was a feeble, "are you hungry?"

Washington opened his mouth to answer, but his stomach beat him to it; letting out a loud gurgling noise. He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," he said. Mick chuckled a bit.

"Well when you get done in here come back to the front of the store, I'll see what I can scrounge up."

"Uh, hey…" he said, catching her attention as she turned around. "What's your name, I mean, you real name?"

"It's Mick."

* * *

They sat a few feet apart, facing each other. Wash finished up a lousy meal of stale potato chips, a snickers bar, and a banana that had seen _**way**_ better days. He crumpled the papers up and tossed the aside, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling. He tried to ignore the pain still swirling around in his shoulder and thigh. The first aid kit had everything _but_ some pain killers. Hell, they didn't even have to be top-of-the-line shit at this point, he'd take some baby aspirin. Mick was bouncing a round object up and down in the palm of her hand and staring out the window. Aside from her initial interrogation of him when he'd first entered the station, she hadn't talked much. Wash was beginning to peg her as the silent type, but then again it's wasn't exactly as if there was much to discuss. Small talk just didn't seem appropriate.

"So…" Mick said, speaking up and snapping his attention to her. "Is this like the part where we have a long, involved conversation about what happened before the zombies started popping up?"

Wash smirked a little, turning his eyes on her. "I dunno. Is that how it goes in the movies?"

"Usually."

The two of them regarded each other quietly, each wondering if they were really going to partake in the above mentioned conversation, or just say fuck it and go back to ignoring one another. The latter seemed to have been working for the better part of the day.

Apparently, they were not going to partake in the conversation, since neither one of them spoke up. Maybe they both were waiting on the other to speak first, maybe they just didn't care, or maybe there was nothing _to_ talk about. All were valid possibilities, though Wash himself was leaning towards the "don't care" route. He wasn't interested in the past, he was interested in the future, in living long enough to see the future, even if the 'future' was, for now, just 'tomorrow'.

Then she broke the silence, interrupting his thoughts. "You look like hell. Why don't you crash out for a while and get some sleep?"

"Thanks for the compliment," he muttered sarcastically. He looked out of the front windows at the dozen or so undead staggering around in front of the gas station. What had started out as two had multiplied throughout the day. It made him uneasy. Washington hadn't taken very well over the years to dealing with things he had little to no information on, and so far, the only thing he knew about the zombies was that they were deadly. Well, there _was_ everything that had ever been used in a zombie book or movie since Romero, but he wasn't stupid enough to use movies as guideline for real life, even if what he was dealing with looked like they just walked off the set of _Zombieland_.

"Don't worry about them, I'll keep watch," Mick said, catching his long, extended stare out of the windows.

Wash forced his eyes away from the walking monstrosities and rubbed the back of his neck. Sleep did sound like a good idea, he couldn't clearly remember when he'd done such last, though whether or not he'd actually be able to get any was another story.

"Yeah, I guess I can give it a shot," he mumbled. He looked up at the clock over the door, it told him it was three in the afternoon. He stretched out on the floor and Mick tossed him something to prop his head against. It was a floral-printed couch pillow. He furrowed his eyebrows, catching it in front of him and giving it an odd look.

"Why are there couch pillows in a gas station?" he inquired.

"It was all that was useful out of the house next door. It's been burnt down for the most part. Guess no one wanted to share what was left of it," she answered.

"Or maybe they didn't want what was inside getting out," he suggested, putting the pillow behind his head and attempting to get as comfortable as he could.

Mick didn't respond to that, instead she just shrugged and reached for the hardcover book lying on the floor, she flipped it open at a random spot and started reading; it was just a guide on how to kill aliens, she didn't imagine it required her to start at the beginning. Washington stared up at the ceiling again, counting the tiles for lack of anything better to do. His mind still hadn't caught up to everything that had happened within that past four days for him, and he was finding it difficult to wind down enough to sleep.

Well, more difficult than usual.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, trying to calm his thoughts. He must have succeeded, because he didn't remember when exactly he stopped counting the Covenant his mental image was shooting, and slipped into actual sleep. The last thing he was aware of in the slightest was Delta's voice telling him something, he just hoped it wasn't important since he knew he wouldn't recall it when he finally did wake up.

* * *

Washington awoke to the sound of tapping. He sat up sharply and looked around the darkened gas station, trying to orient himself. He almost started panicking, having fallen asleep with it being light out and woken up in pitch-blackness, but Delta quickly intervened, calming him down before he could flip out. He rubbed his face with his hands, wiping the sleep from his eyes and shaking his head a bit. Delta told him it was going on nine thirty at night, and that he'd been asleep for about six hours. Wash's attention was diverted from the AI as the tapping began to grow louder. He sat there and listened to the noises for a few minutes, and realized after a while that there was more than just a tapping sound. Finally he recognized the sounds as tapping, scratching, and banging on glass, accompanied by groans and yells. He crawled forward and felt around for the flash light he'd discarded earlier with his weapons. Locating the object, he pulled it out from underneath his battle rifle turned it on, shining it at the glass at the front of the gas station. He let out a surprised yelp and shuffled backwards as he moved the light upon face after face of undead, all pushing and banging on the glass, trying to force their way in.

It looked like the dozen or so zombies had multiplied again…by a lot.

"Shit!" he hissed, lunging forward and collecting his weapons. He snapped them all in place in a hurry, scooping his helmet up off of the counter. "Mick!"

The girl mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over on her makeshift bed. Wash stumbled as he attached his leg armor, whilst trying to kick Mick awake.

"Mick!" he whispered. "Get up! We have to move!"

"…huh?" she mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her eye. "Wha's wrong? Why was I dreaming about oranges?"

"What?" Wash paused momentarily. The sound of cracking glass snapped him back into motion as Delta flared to life, glowing red and alerting him of how much longer the windows would hold. "I don't know, but get up, we need to get out of here."

"Why?"

He aimed the light back at the windows, which were now beginning to give way. Mick's jaw dropped as she surveyed the scene outside and she jumped up, racing to stuff her things in her bag.

"We don't have time for that!" Washington snapped, slipping a pistol into the holster on his thigh and tugging his helmet on.

Mick turned to say something over her shoulder but was cut off by the panels shattering inwards. Shards of glass flew through the air and the undead started charging into the building. Washington tossed the flashlight aside and jumped forward, covering her from the glass and bringing her down just as a zombie swiped its hand at her head. They hit the ground a few feet away and he pulled a knife from his hip, thrusting it upwards into the zombies' face as she tried to gain her balance and run. Her feet slipped and slid on the tile floor and he shoved her forwards, yelling.

"Go!" His voice was almost inaudible over the sound of the rest of the unprotected glass being shattered and the horde of undead rushing into the building. Their groans and grunts were so much louder when there was more than one or two of them.

Mick felt his hand on her ass, pushing her forward as she finally gained her footing and took off. He was right behind her, and so were the dead. There were almost a hundred of them following behind. She lost her footing in the hallway again, unable to see in the dark. Washington cursed and grabbed her by the waist, picking her up and slinging her into his arms at an awkward angle.

"Fuck!" she yelled, wrapping her arms around his neck in fear of falling. Suddenly, she remembered the back door. "Wash, the door! It's locked!"

He cussed again as they busted into the storeroom and darted across to the back doors, dodging boxes and loading crates. The zombies were seconds behind and closing in fast. Mick leaned forward and started feeling around for the lock.

"Don't you drop me, you hear?" she snapped, locating the mechanism.

Wash was looking over his shoulder at the zombies. They were six feet away now. "Hurry up, Mick!"

The metal bar slid out of it's stationary position and into the secondary slot, releasing the hold keeping the two doors together. "Got it!"

Washington charged through the doors, tossed Mick to the ground and then slammed them shut, pressing into them with his body as the undead tried to push through from the other side. He could hear them scratching and slapping at it as they growled in frustration.

"What do you suggest we do now?" he yelled.

"Uh, uhm, I…I don't…" Mick yelped, looking around frantically for any idea of what to do.

"_There is a chain and lock to your left, perhaps that would be of use?_" Delta inquired, once again glowing to life next to Wash. Mick rushed forward and grabbed the items, handing one end of the chain to him. The two of them wrapped the chain around the door, pulling it as taut as they could, and snapped the lock into place through one of the links.

"This isn't gonna hold for long," Wash breathed. His voice was marred by static through his helmet.

"Yeah, and what do you suggest we do?" Mick snapped, looking up at him. His armor reflected the moonlight shining down upon them, there was blood splattered across his visor and shoulders from the zombie he'd stabbed in the face.

"Well, I say we get the fuck out of here," he said, standing up straight.

"We?" she asked. "What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?"

He shrugged. "Fine, stay here with the zombies. Unarmed. With no provisions. I give you three minutes to live. One less thing for me to worry about." He took a few steps forward, fully intending to just walk away and leave her. He made it about ten feet before his conscious, currently being played by Delta, kicked in and told him that would just be a dick move. He sighed and looked over his shoulder at her.

"On the other hand, you could always come along with the guy in the armor and the big gun. Your choice."

She was quiet for a moment as she thought things over. She looked at him and frowned. "Why are you helping me? I mean, you could have just left me back there and took off. But you didn't. Why?"

Washington thought about it for a short while before he finally came up with an answer. Granted, it wasn't "the voice in my head told me to" but it was good enough for the current situation.

"You helped me. It only makes sense."

Mick stared at him. After a minutes thought, she started laughing. "So… you got a 'big gun', huh?"

Underneath his helmet, Wash blanched. "Th-that's not what I meant!" he exclaimed. "Are you coming or not?"

Mick stood up. "Yeah, I'm coming."

"Good. Let's go."

He started walking back towards the woods, not waiting for her to catch up. She jogged forward so that she was even with him.

"You know, I kinda of need some pants," she said, looking down at her attire, or lack thereof. "And some shoes…"

"Why the hell were sleeping half-naked anyway?" he asked, glancing down at her bare legs.

"It's more comfortable!"

"Is it comfortable **now**?"

"…not particularly, no."

"Let this be a learning experience for you, and we'll get along just fine," he said firmly. She snorted a little and looked up at the night sky as they stepped off of the blacktop and into the field behind the gas station. Some patches of grass were darker than others, having been soiled with blood or charred from the explosion of grenades and there were a few dead zombies lying about from when he'd shown up earlier. She looked behind at her at the building and gaped.

"Uh…Wash, I think they busted through the door."

"What?" He followed her gaze.

"Well, you're the big special forces guy; what do you suggest we do?"

"…Run."

"_That's_ your plan?" she yelped as they took off.

"Hey, it worked earlier!" he yelled back. "Don't criticize me!"

* * *

**A/N:**

**Q: Why does Wash have Delta?**  
A: Because York was the recovery job he was on before this happened. He was on his way back to command when he got shipped to Earth (possibly by mistake) and never got a hcance to turn him in.

**Q: Yes, but, why is Delta _implanted_ in him? This is Washington, he'd never have another AI, ever, he said so! Don't you know ANYTHING about RVB?**  
A: Desperate times call for desperate measures. Plus, I always took Wash's refusal of another AI more because of he was trying to bring the director down and if one found out about it, his plan would fail, not so much that he didn't want them. I will direct you to his comment in Recovery One, about how implantation is the only sure-fire way to protect an AI in battle.

**Q: That wasn't a direct answer, I wanna know more!**  
A: Well too bad, I don't wanna fuck up my plot! U


	3. Idiots and Guns

**A/N: This should have been out sooner, but I derped and lost the file. And like, I became an Albert Wesker fangirl, and it was like "Pffft Washington WHO?" for a while.

* * *

**

The metal door fell to the floor with a loud clang. Mick jumped at the noise, looking around the abandoned police department, sure that the noise had attracted something. Delta's avatar glowed to life in between her and Washington as the Freelancer bent over inside the locker, digging through the contents.

"_My motion tracker does not detect anything,_" the AI said, _"you do not need to worry. We are alone."_

Mick turned her eyes on the green hologram, her hand clutching the flashlight tightly.

"Forgive me if I don't trust what a computer program tells me all that much," she said.

"_It's all right. I understand,_" Delta responded. He blinked out of life, the absence of his light making the dim area considerably darker. Mick looked over Wash's shoulder as he stood up, eyeing the object in his hands through his HUD. She moved the beam of light over the object and frowned in confusion.

"Riot armor? But you already _have_ armor," she said. Wash's helmeted head turned towards her. Beneath the protective head cover, he raised an eyebrow at her and sighed.

"No shit, it's not for me," he said. He laid the metal chest plate on the desk behind them. It wasn't the fancy MJOLNIR full-body suits that the UNSC had, it was just standard riot armor for police and ground Military forces. It wasn't what he'd like, but it'd have to do.

"Then who's it for?" Mick asked, blinking and looking around him as he dragged out more pieces. The locker had been swept fairly clean, but there was enough random bits of gear that he was sure they'd be able to find enough to use.

"You're the one unprotected," he said. Mick blinked.

"Oh, yeah!"

_I'm surprised she survived this long by herself, she doesn't seem very bright,_ he thought. He expected Delta to make a comment, but the AI (wisely) chose to stay silent for once. Washington took a few steps back, motioning towards the locker with his hand.

"Look, you go through this. Find what fits you, and then see if there's anything else in this room that can be useful. I'm going to go see if there's anything in the armory."

"Hey, why'd you go through all the trouble to get here just to get me some protection, anyway?" Mick asked.

After the incident at the gas station, Washington and she had continued moving away from that general area well into the next day. When hunger and exhaustion finally caught up to them, they'd found a small subdivision to check out and possibly take cover in. The subdivision was centered around a small shopping center, a school, the police station and a park. There was also another gas station. The pair had intentionally added an extra thirty minutes to their exploration of the neighborhood, just so they could stay as far away from that particular building as possible.

They'd cautiously entered the shopping center, looking for food and some clothes for Mick. The girl was practically enraged at Washington for taking so long to get somewhere where she could find clean clothes, considering she was still only wearing her top and panties. He'd simply continued to hold his case that it was her fault for being stupid and not wearing pants, or shoes for that matter, to sleep. Mick had sarcastically responded by asking _him_ when the last time he'd worn shoes to bed was.

His response had been an infuriatingly straight-faced "last week".

* * *

Mick grinned at him in the light of the flashlight. Her reflection bounced off his orange visor.

"Worried about me?" she asked. Wash snorted.

"Hardly," he said, "it's just that you're defenseless against those _things_ and I don't want to have spend most of my time looking over my shoulder at you to make sure you're okay when I need to be focusing on myself."

Wash turned around, looking around the room to see where the armory would be located.

"And," he continued, "unfortunately for me, I'm not the type of person to just leave a defenseless girl all by herself. So this will have to do."

"Hey!" she snapped. She glared at the back of his helmet, wishing she could rip it off and smack him with it. "I'll have you know I can take care of myself just fine!"

Wash smirked. "Oh really?" he asked.

"Yes, really."

"How long has the safety on your Glock been on?" he asked suddenly.

"…what? Safety?"

"Okay then, how much experience do you have with guns?" he rephrased the question.

Mick shrugged. "My boyfriend was a Marine, he used them all the time…that was one of his off-duty pistols."

"That's what I thought," Wash said. "You never noticed the whole time you had your weapon in my face, that even if you tried to shoot me it wouldn't fire. All because you didn't flip the safety off. I suppose it's a good thing I came along when I did, or you'd probably be dead from your ignorance."

With that said, he walked down behind the line of desks and turned the corner at the end of the room. He disappeared down the hallway, eyeing the signs on the walls in search of guns and ammunition. Mick remained where she was, gawking. She finally stuck her hand up, flipping off the spot where he'd been.

"Go fuck yourself. I'll have you know I can take of myself just _**fine**_!" she stomped her foot in anger. Her foot landed on a rouge piece of paper lying on the floor, and slid out from under her. She lost her balance and dropped the flashlight. It landed to the floor in a clatter as she let out a startled cry, falling down on her ass.

Washington's voice echoed from the other side of the building.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!" She yelled back at him. She sat on the floor and glowered. "Nothing but the sound of my dignity being crushed…"

* * *

David sighed, walking back down the hallway and shaking his head. God, it really was amazing that woman hadn't been killed yet when one considered her incompetence at…well, everything, it seemed like.

"_Agent Washington, if I may?_" Delta asked, once again blinking into existence next to him.

"Go ahead," he said, inspecting the electronic lock on a door.

"_Something does not seem right with her,_" the AI said. _"She said her significant other was a Marine and used to guns. Logic would dictate that, if my guess into human behavior is right, he would have at least shown her the very basics of gun use. Am I correct?_"

"Eh, maybe," Wash said. He shoved his shoulder into the door, attempting to break it down. "The thing about us humans is that none of us are alike. I couldn't really say; any of my past girlfriends have been in the service themselves and always known how to handle a weapon."

"_Excellent point, I had forgotten how varied humans can be,_" Delta said.

"But…" Wash shoved his shoulder into the door again. The metal panel refused to move. "You do have a point. I don't see how you could date someone that's a Marine and not pick up _anything_."

"_My sentiments exactly._"

Wash stood back and kicked at the space on the door right next to the lock. The door budged in the frame a bit and he gave it another blow. On the third one, it flew inwards, hitting the wall behind it and bouncing back off. It swung inwards again, the hinges creaking ever so slightly. He frowned as he walked into the armory; or what used to be the armory. There was a car parked in the middle of, it had crashed through the wall on the other side of the room. Most of the guns had been looted, and there was little ammo left from what he could see. He slid over the hood of the car and noticed a body in the backseat.

_Well,_ he thought as he picked up a box of ammo for his M6G. _I suppose anything is better than nothing._

He looked around the room as best he could given the damage that had been sustained to it. He found some ammo for his battle rifle to go along with the handgun munitions. Deciding it was as good as it was going to get, and trying to convince himself that it was good he'd found anything he climbed back over the car again and exited the room. He paused at the door briefly, wondering why the hell it had been locked if there had been a car crashing through the wall.

_Just what the hell even happened down here, anyway?_ he wondered.

* * *

When Wash returned to the main room, he was not surprised to find Mick having trouble squeezing into the riot armor. Apparently it was either entirely too big for her, or too small. Currently, she was suffering from the latter issue around her hips.

"What's the matter, can't squeeze your ass into it?" he asked. She looked up at him and frowned. He expected her to make a snarky remark or just plain cuss him out, but instead she remained silent.

It took them a few minutes to get Mick situated in her armor. 'Them' because after several attempts to tug it on properly, she gave up and asked for Wash's assistance. He made her ask three times because he 'didn't hear her'. Finally fixed up and moderately protected, she started her own search of the room.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked, shining the light over a bulletin board. Wash was leaning against a desk across the area. He reached up and pulled his helmet off. The hiss of the seal being broken echoed throughout the still air.

"I have no idea…" he said. He stared up at the ceiling, resting his helmet on the desk beside him.

"What about the other UNSC guys you were with?"

"Don't know. Like I said, when I came to the pilot was dead and everyone else was gone. I haven't been able to get long-range to work since then. Delta and I have been trying."

They lapsed into silence for a bit then. Wash continued to just stare at the ceiling as she wandered around the room. She looked in filing cabinets, drawers, pockets of some of the coats hanging around. She didn't know what she was looking for, but there wasn't much else to do. Mick figured it would be better to at least _appear_ useful than stand around not doing anything and just…

_Staring at the ceiling like a dumbass,_ she thought as she cast a glance towards Wash.

"Wait!" she yelped as something came to her. She turned towards him, aiming the light at him. "Are you people the only ship the UNSC sent to us?"

"I…don't know. I wasn't even supposed to be on it," he said, looking over at her.

"How can you not know?" she snapped.

"I don't know!" he exclaimed. He turned to face her, banging his hands down on the desk in frustration.

"You know more than me, you've been here the whole time!" he said.

"I don't understand how you can be so uninformed! The UNSC always knows what's going on earth in case of Covenant activity. You're our primary form of defense, _you're_ the reason our military and police forces here are so depleted! What the fuck have you been doing out there, sitting with your thumbs in your asses jerking each other off all day?"

"I don't even work directly with the UNSC," he ground out. "I'm in a separate division."

"What division?"

"…I can't tell you that."

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then I can't tell you what I know about the zombies," she retorted. "Figure it out yourself."

Mick turned on her heel and stormed across the floor. She threw the doors open with one hand and marched out into the setting light. They banged shut behind her, leaving Wash alone in the dim, dusty station. He growled in annoyance, glaring at the door.

_Next time we get swarmed, she might just find herself on her own,_ he thought. He grabbed his helmet and stuffed his head back into it, walking around the desk and following Mick outside. She was sitting down on the curb in front of the building, the flashlight dangling loosely in her hands. She looked up at him as he came out next to her.

"But…where do we go?" she asked. "We can't just wander aimlessly…"

"Why not?" he asked. "I could use a vacation."

"You consider traipsing through zombie infested woods a vacation?"

"After the stuff I've been through in the last couple years…yeah, I do."

She stared at him for a moment. "Pretty bad, huh?"

"You could say that."

"I still think we need to figure out what we're doing," Mick said.

"Well, at the moment we're sitting out side of an abandoned police station talking out our asses," Wash droned. It was as if he was trying to shove as much sarcasm into the sentence as possible. He looked down at her.

"And now you're looking like you want to kill me," he continued.

"For the love of god, just shut up!"

They fell into silence again, each one alone with their own thoughts for a while. Delta remained quiet in the back of Wash's head, though he could still feel the AI's own thought process working. It seemed like Delta was having a hard time understanding what was going on. After all, zombies weren't exactly within the spectrum of normal logic.

"Well we can't just sit here all night," Mick said finally. She stood up, looking at Wash. Once again, she stared at her own reflection in his visor. It occurred to her then, that she really hated that fucking helmet. How were you supposed be partnered with someone when you couldn't even see them most of the time?

"Yeah, you're right," he said. "Well, we could either check out that hotel we saw, or try for one of the houses."

She gestured back at the police station. "Why not just stay here? We've already checked it over, it's empty. The doors are manual lock, and then tomorrow we can always do one last sweep of it to see if there's anything we missed."

"…oh, yeah. Yeah, good idea."

"They've got to have a break room somewhere with at least a cot or two."

"All right, I guess here it is," Wash said. "I don't know why I didn't think of that…"

"It's because you're an idiot," she said flatly. She turned, walking back into the building and leaving Wash standing there alone, staring after her and looking a tad more than a bit like an idiot.


	4. Hits and Misses

**A/N: Yay next chapter and so soon. :D So I got a review yesterday by an unregistered user who said they wanted the Blood Gulch gang to show up next chapter. They ARE going to be in this story, just right now. There's a while yet before they show up, but yes our favorite band of idiots will pop up eventually.

* * *

**

They did another search of the police headquarters before they settled in for the night. Since the gas station issue, Washington wasn't even that comfortable with sleeping inside a building in general, but it was still probably smarter than sleeping in the middle of the parking lot or something. After they were certain the facility was secure, Wash had headed back to the main room, intending on curling up there for the night. Mick, apparently, had other ideas as she remained in the break room and lounged on one of the cots.

"Absolutely not," Wash said, stopping in the doorway. She looked over at him, her arms behind her head.

"What?"

"You're not sleeping here," he said.

"Why not?" she sat up, frowning at him. She'd taken off her chest plate of the riot armor, along with the codpiece. They sat next to her on the cot.

"_Why?_" he asked. "Because, it's at the back of building, at the end of the hallway with no way out. If something happens, you'll be trapped."

"So? The place is empty, nothing's going to happen."

"That's what you said at the gas station."

Mick frowned, running a hand through her brown hair to get it out of her face. Her eyes narrowed at Washington in annoyance. God, could the guy** be** anymore paranoid?

"Come on, man," she sighed. "I haven't slept on anything close to a bed in weeks, let me indulge a little."

"if you want to use a cot so badly, then drag it up front. You have five minutes, don't make me come back here," he said, turning to leave. Mick raised an eyebrow at him.

"What are you gonna do, chain me to a desk?"

"Maybe. We _are_ in a police station, I'm pretty sure there's handcuffs here somewhere."

Mick gaped at him as he retreated back up the hallway. Was he fucking serious?

"That guy's got a couple screws loose," she squawked.

"I heard that!" Wash yelled from down the hall.

Mick flinched, freezing up for a few seconds, until she was sure he wasn't going to come back and bitch at her some more. Sighing, she stood up and looked down at the cot. Well…it didn't look that hard to move. In fact, she could probably just fold it shut and carry it out. No big deal.

Man, that guy really was an idiot!

Wash looked up as Mick stomped into the main room five minutes later. He was leaning against a filing cabinet and stripping the bulkier pieces of his armor off. His helmet was lying in his lap.

"What?" he asked as she approached. "Decided against the cot?"

Mick glowered at him for a moment before mumbling something incoherent. He blinked at her.

"…In English maybe? I don't speak in growls."

"I can't lift it, it's too heavy!" she snapped.

"Need some help?"

"Quite. Obviously."

"That's all you had to say," Wash said. He set his helmet on the floor with his gloves and the pile of black and yellow metal that made up the MJOLNIR as he stood up. Mick grimaced at him, walking over and plopping down in a chair as he left the room. She put her hands to her ears and stuck her tongue out at him as he disappeared.

"Prick."

* * *

Once the bedding problem was solved, Mick broached the subject of a "plan" again. She found a map on one of the desks and studied it for a moment, before motioning Washington over to look at it. She shined the flashlight down on it, mapping out a route with her finger.

"Look, we're here right now," she said, her finger hovering over Columbia, South Carolina. "Over here is the Sumter National Forest. We're actually closer to it than we are to Columbia."

"Okay, and?"

He watched her finger trail up the map some more, passing over Charlotte, Knoxville and finally coming to a stop between Lexington and Cincinnati.

"If I'm not mistaken, there's a UNSC base somewhere around there," she concluded.

"Ch, that's not exactly an exact location," Wash said. "Besides, look how far away that is from where we are. Are you suggesting we go there?"

"Why not? It makes sense! You have any better ideas?" she looked up at him, standing straight and crossing her arms. She wondered, briefly, if he was really that tall or if it was the armor still properly put together on his lower torso making him appear taller than he really was.

Wash rubbed the back of his head, his fingers trailing through his hair as he thought about it. He leaned over a bit, hands resting on the side of the desk as he looked at the map again.

"I suppose it makes sense," he said. "The other UNSC bases I can think of are in California, Texas, Nevada, Maine and Washington state. I know there's other military installations dotted around everywhere, and there's a UNSC subsidiary place in DC."

"There's an Army training base in Columbia," she said, her finger tapping over the spot on the map again. "Fort Jackson. They do a lot of work the United Nations Space Command anymore."

"Yeah, I have a friend who was picked up there…" he said. He stood straight again. "All right, you win, I guess we'll check some of these places out."

"We should check out Fort Jackson first, it is closest."

"And it's right off the interstate mostly, so we can avoid Columbia itself," Mick added.

"I guess it _is_ better than just walking around randomly," Wash muttered.

"I guess it's a good thing we did run into each other," she said, flopping down on her cot. "I'd be out of a bed, and you'd be wandering the wilderness alone, getting shot by rednecks."

Mick blinked, sitting back up.

"That reminds me, how are your injuries?"

"Still there," he said. He sat down in a chair and bent over, taking the armor off his legs. "I'm sure it'll be fine as long as they don't get infected."

"Shouldn't you look at them?" she asked.

"Should I? Yeah, probably. Am I gonna? No, not at all."

"Bah, fine. Be that way. Just don't expect me to care when you get gangrene and die."

"Didn't ask you to, did I?"

Mick glared at him for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest. Wash ignored her as he took his boots off.

"Why are you such an asshole?" she finally asked. He looked up at her, his face blank.

"Because, it's normally my job," he said.

"…oh…"

She laid back down on her cot, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Occasionally she'd glance over at Washington, as she mulled things over. After he'd gotten his armor off, he stretched out on the floor. She wondered why he didn't get himself a cot to sleep on, it seemed odd to prefer the floor.

_I really want to know what he does, she thought. What division in the UNSC is he in? I wonder, does he have something to do with the SPARTAN program? Could they be trying to make more?_

Mick lost track of the time as she laid there, lost in her own musings. Wash didn't miss the occasional glances she aimed towards him, but since she wasn't constantly bugging him and asking questions he didn't comment on it. It seemed that she did know, at least to some extent, when to shut the fuck up and leave him alone…unlike some other people he knew.

He sighed, rolling over on his side. He stared out underneath the desks, looking at the dusty floor. It seemed as if sleep was going to elude him yet again.

_Agent Washington…_ Delta said. The AI was trying to be gentle with him, but the odd feeling rubbing against his consciousness wasn't something that could be decreased on the weirdness scale.

Well, at least he wasn't Epsilon.

'_You know, Delta, you don't have to be so formal,'_ he said mentally.

_My apologies, then,_ the AI responded. _But I suppose you have a point about that._

'_Anyway, what did you want?'_ he asked.

Delta was silent for a moment before continuing.

It is about Mick. If she's going to be that much of a hindrance upon us, then logic would dictate we leave her behind.

Wash sighed a little, rolling over again. In a way, he almost felt bad for Delta. He couldn't imagine having an existence that was based purely on data and facts and logic. It made dealing with the AI a tad difficult, having to constantly explain to it how human emotions altered logic, and why sometimes just because something was _logical_ didn't mean it was _right_.

'_It's not that big of an issue,' he said. 'She's dead-weight, sure, but she's not a risk or anything. This isn't our first time having to maneuver and plan around someone that's walking incompetence, after all. I'm sure we can manage.'_

_If you say so. _With that, Delta fell quiet for the rest of night. Wash eventually slipped into an uneasy rest, the sounds of Mick's snoring waking him up every now and then.

* * *

"No, that's not right!" Wash snapped as he rubbed his hands over his face. He'd woken up to find himself alone in the main room of the police building. After a moments panic and quick search, he discovered that Mick had made use of the locker room located off the break room. Apparently, the place still had running water. **Hot** running water.

Needless to say, two hours had been wasted by both of them showering up. Mick had changed out of the ill-fitting sweatshirt and tank top she'd looted from the department store and into a spare uniform top. Wash had followed suit, finding an under-shirt and black top, along with someone's blue jeans and boots to change into when he wasn't in armor.

After that, Wash had discovered the firing range in the basement, along with a weapons locker stocked full of guns and ammo. The lights down there still worked, which just made him question the building even more. Why didn't the lights upstairs turn on, but the ones in the basement did? And how did they still have hot water? Since they had extra munitions for weapons they wouldn't need, he and Delta had assumed it would be logical to teach Mick a few things about gun handling.

Unfortunately, neither he nor the AI had thought of the possibly that she would just be really, really bad with guns.

"How do you keep _**missing**_?" he cried, watching as she emptied an entire clip of ammo, missing the cardboard target at the end of the room entirely. The bullets slapped into the concrete wall behind it, going wide, or high, or low…anywhere but where they should have been going.

"I…I don't know!" she whined. She attempted to eject the empty mag, but even that proved to be a challenge. Washington watched, exasperated, as she fiddled with the gun for a few minutes until he finally wrenched it from her hands. He ejected the empty magazine, picked a new one up from the table and slid in it in place within seconds. Mick reached for the gun again, but he jerked it out of her grasp.

"No," he said flatly. She blinked at him as he stepped behind her, bringing the weapon up in front of her. "Look, you don't even hold it right."

He moved her hands around the grip, positioning them properly.

"And stop holding your finger against the trigger! Even with the safety on, that's a bad habit to get into. Rest it on the guard if you need to, but **never** on the trigger itself. One small twitch and you can fuck up big time," he explained.

"Stop holding it so tight. You want a firm hold, but you don't want to clutch onto it for dear life. Stop trying to fight the recoil, it's going to do that every time. You're liable to drop it that way, just be careful and let it do what it's going to do, okay?"

"Uh…okay," she said.

"All right, try again," he said. He removed his hands from hers and took a step back. "Aim for the chest."

"Shouldn't I aim for the head? We are gonna be fighting zombies," she inquired. After all, movies always had you aim for the head.

"If you want to hit anything, aim for the chest. Headshots are near impossible on a moving target, it's always a safer bet to aim for the chest. That way if you do hit, you'll at least get whatever you're aiming at to stall long enough to try for the head.

"And, seeing as you can't hit fucking a fucking non-moving, three foot wide cardboard target…aim for the goddamn chest," he finished. Mick frowned.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" she snapped.

"You're welcome," he said. "Don't fire so fast this time. You don't need to empty ten rounds in ten seconds. Take your time."

Mick gave a nod, her ponytail bouncing as she did so. She'd tied her hair back after her shower with some hair ties she'd found in a locker. In a way, it was odd, just picking up other people's belongings and using them without a second thought. But desperate times, desperate measures.

She stared down the range, eyeing the target. She shifted her finger from the trigger guard to the trigger itself and inhaled slowly. Wash watched her from behind, his arms crossed over his chest. He felt sure that this time she'd blow the target away. All she needed was a little coaching and she'd be fine. After all, it was impossible for a person to miss a still target that many times in a row. And in a perfectly lit room no less.

The sound of the gun going off echoed loudly as she fired. It occurred to him then that he probably should have found them some ear protection; odds were they'd having ringing ears for the rest of the day now. Oh well.

Her first shot went wide, completely missing and once again the bullet slammed into the wall. The second one missed as well, as did the third. The rest of the ammo followed suit, until once again, the gun was empty and she hadn't hit the target once.

Not. Once.

Two full clips, twenty rounds, and she'd missed with all of them.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?" echoed throughout the room as she finished, the sound rivaling that of the gun. Mick turned around, holding the weapon up and giving him a nervous smile.

"I don't think I'm any good at this…" she said, giggling awkwardly. Washington snatched the gun from her again. Instead of filling it up he just tossed onto the table, frowning at her.

"I don't understand how you can miss like that!" he exclaimed. All she did was shrug in response.

"Some people aren't made to handle guns," she stated.

"Yes, I know…but it's not that hard! Point, shoot, watch people bleed, it's fucking simple!"

Another shrug.

"Can we go find some lunch or something? I'm hungry." She patted her stomach in emphasis. Wash's eyebrow twitched a little at her random change in subject.

He sighed and turned back around to the weapons locker. He surveyed the items there, trying to think of what he should bring. Having too much provisions could be as bad as not having enough. He knew he could hook a shotgun or a rifle in the slot on the back of his armor. In addition to that he had a space for his handgun, and a space for his combat knife. If needed, he could always attach straps to assault rifles and just sling those over his shoulder. He supposed that Mick could always carry a handgun or two and extra ammo, even if she couldn't use any of it.

On second thought, no, maybe just one handgun and a lot of extra ammo. Ammo was the important thing here, not the guns themselves. Besides, she needed space to carry things like food and maybe changes of clothes.

Wash rubbed his chin as his thoughts branched out from there. He knew they weren't always going to be lucky enough to find a building to hide out in, and once they got moving he wanted to avoid any over populated areas at all cost. It wasn't just the threat of being swarmed by zombies that bothered him. The throbbing in his shoulder and leg from his last encounter with people also made him wary of the things that weren't going to try and rip his intestines out. So yes, the farther away from people, both dead and alive, the better. With that line of thinking, perhaps they should pick up some portable shelter in one of the stores at the shopping center up the road. They also needed to get some more food, and it would probably be a good idea to bring that map they'd found upstairs with them, even if Mick did seem to know the area well enough on her own.

…wait…

He turned around again, looking at her as something dawned on him.

"Do you live around here?" he asked.

"Yeah, I lived in Columbia," she said. She rubbed the back of her neck, shrugging. "I was born in Greenville, so I know the tri-state area pretty well."

Wash just looked at her funny, so she elaborated.

"Tri-state, like South Carolina, North Carolina and Georgia. We pretty much blend into one long expanse of farms, rednecks and the occasional city and some mountains. If you live in one spot, odds are by the time you've been there five years you'll know the rest of the area," she said.

"Oh…" he said. He turned back around to the weapons locker and looked it over again. Reaching down he pulled out a green duffle bag with POLICE stamped on the side. He tossed it to her.

"Hold that," he said, reaching back inside the metal locker. Mick held the bag open as he dumped boxes of ammo inside it. He slid a pump-action shotgun, a standard-issue police pistol and a semi-automatic rifle inside. He threw in a scope for the rifle, some empty clips for all three weapons and a gun-cleaning kit before finally zipping it up. She strained to hold the bag upright, the weight from the weapons and accessories far exceeding what she could hold. Wash took it from her and slung it over his shoulder with relative ease.

"All right, there's a few things upstairs we need, then I guess we need to change back into our armors and we can go," he said. He nodded towards the stairs. "So let's go."

Mick nodded, but remained where she was. She watched his back as he walked to the stairs and started up them. She followed suit after a few seconds. He reached the top of the stairs before her and flicked the light off as he exited back into the hallway.

Well, she thought, he is kind of an asshole. But I guess it's better than being alone in a cold, empty gas station with nothing but Snickers to eat.

Yes, she decided; there were far worse situations she could be in. Even if it meant dealing with tall-dark-and-snarky all day, every day for a while, it was still better than being stranded on her own in the city and surrounded by zombies.

Hell, _anything_ was better than that.


End file.
